


Not Exactly a White Picket Fence Life

by ereshai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: Agents Phil Coulson and Clint Barton go undercover in an affluent suburban neighborhood to track down an illegal drug and gun smuggler. Their assignment is a piece of cake - pretending that they don't want their fake marriage to be real is a little harder.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentawe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentawe/gifts).



> Many thanks to dizzyredhead for the very helpful beta.  
> This fic began its life as a birthday gift for silentawe. At least I got it done before your next birthday? I hope you like it!

This was hell; Clint was in hell. There was no other explanation.

“Here’s the paperwork for your cover identity.” Sammi from Requisitions handed him a thick file folder. “Standard package - driver’s license, social security card, birth certificate. I gave Agent Coulson the paperwork for the house and the cars along with his cover.”

Clint’s heart thudded in his chest. “Sounds good,” he said calmly.

“Your background is on pages five through nine. They didn’t give you anything too out of the ordinary, but look it over anyway, okay?”

Clint nodded as he scanned the first page (they’d thrown in a circus reference…hilarious). He always memorized the cover stories they gave him for undercover missions; his idea of ordinary was very different from SHIELD’s. They usually kept the minutiae close to his real life - same first name, same birthday, stuff like that - and the rest was window dressing.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve _this_. Sure, there were things in his past that he needed to atone for, but shouldn’t the punishment fit the crime?

“We’ve put together your wardrobe - some business casual and lots of expensive tees and jeans, so not too far off your usual style. Everything will be delivered to the house next week with the furniture. Oh, you’re supposed to be job-hunting, so there are a few business suits, and Glen would appreciate it if you wouldn’t bust the seams on the jackets this time.”

“That was only two… okay, it was three times. I didn’t do it on purpose.” He really hadn’t. The suits were technically his size, but they weren’t tailored specifically for him like his tux had been and they were too tight across his shoulders. Shit happened – he had to be able to move.

“Uh-huh. The briefing’s set for 1400. I emailed everyone a copy of the mission overview if you want to take a look at it beforehand.”

“Then I’d better go give it a look-see. There’s probably going to be a pop quiz.” He was only half joking. Coulson liked to spring questions on all participating agents during preliminary mission briefings - it guaranteed that they would read the material.

Sammi smiled and shook her head. “Good luck, Agent Barton.”

Clint gave her a jaunty salute and left with his paperwork. He desperately needed to prepare for the upcoming mission. It wasn’t the mission itself exactly - spending the foreseeable future in the ‘burbs living in a house with a white picket fence while trying to track down an international drug and arms smuggler was nothing new. He and Natasha had done something similar several times. No, the hard part was that he’d be playing house with _Coulson_ , and he had no idea how he was going to keep things under wraps 24/7. They had to sell themselves as a real couple; it would be days - who was he kidding? more likely weeks - of lovey-dovey behavior. Nosey neighbors and possible surveillance dictated that they would be sharing a room. A bed.

Clint had no illusions that prolonged close contact would help him get over his stupid, stupid, inconvenient feelings - the best he could hope for was to come through the other side of this mission with Coulson still in the dark about how Clint felt.

 _Which means no ogling him when he comes out of the shower. No dry-humping him in your sleep. No kissing him when his eyes do that crinkly twinkling thing when he’s really happy about something. Or when he smiles. Or when he calls you Clint instead of Barton._ He was so fucked.

He was definitely in hell.

~

Phil was being punished.

It was the only explanation. Why else would he be standing at the head of a conference table, briefing his team on an op that was going to require him to spend an indeterminate amount of time _sharing a bed with_ _Clint Barton_?

The man in question was sprawled in his chair, flipping a pen into the air and catching it deftly. He didn’t seem to be paying attention, but Phil knew if he asked Clint about any detail of the op, Clint would answer quickly and correctly. He had spent the last hour stretched out on the couch in Phil’s office, after all, going over the mission packet in minute detail.

“We’ll be taking advantage of a previously established cover. SHIELD has kept the ‘Philip Larson’ identity active in the arms dealing community…” As he continued, Phil resolutely kept his eyes away from Clint, who had his head tilted back as he balanced his pen on the bridge of his nose, exposing the long line of his throat. A few of the other agents were having more trouble keeping their eyes off of him.

“Agent Barton will also have a role,” Phil said as he came to the end of his spiel. “Barton, if you would?”

Clint’s head came up and he caught the pen as it rolled off of his nose. “Hi everyone, I’m Clint Barnum, Philip Larson’s trophy husband and former small-time drug dealer and middleman. In reality, Coulson’s backup, bodyguard, and unofficial coffee boy.” There were a few chuckles at that. “I’ll be a stay-at-home husband who’s ‘job-hunting’ so I can get a feel for the neighborhood, figure out who’s hinky as shit, and maybe even drop a few hints about my dark past or my husband’s dark present.”

“Thank you for that colorful interpretation of your assignment, Barton,” Phil said dryly. Clint just grinned at him.

They discussed the op as a group, throwing out scenarios and suggestions, clarifying details and offering insights based on past ops. Clint was particularly on-point with his input and Phil had to remind himself not to admire him so openly. It wasn’t professional - and it was far too revealing.

They’d been at it for an hour when Phil finally ended the meeting. “You have your assignments. If there are no questions,” Phil looked around but no one spoke up, “we’ll leave it there until our preliminary logistics meeting tomorrow at 1500.”

The agents filed out of the room as Phil gathered his things. When he was finished, he looked up to find Clint still sitting at the table, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Is there something I can help you with, Agent Barton?”

“Which side of the bed do you prefer?” Clint asked, his face solemn. “Do you snore? Are you a blanket hog? A sleep cuddler?”

“Left, no, no, and not that anyone’s mentioned.” Phil cracked a smile. “And you?”

“No preference, no, yes, yes.”

Phil froze for a second. Cuddling in bed with Clint was a thing that was going to happen. That was simultaneously the best and worst thing he’d ever had to look forward to. “We’ll need extra blankets, then. Good to know. Anything else?” he asked, his internal struggle not evident in his even tone.

“Are you,” Clint paused, and then continued in a horrified whisper, “a morning person?”

“I wake up ready to face the day, no matter what time it happens to be.”

“A morning person,” Clint said with a sharp nod. “Okay. At least now I can prepare.”

Phil made a mental to note to schedule a one-on-one meeting with Clint to discuss other issues that would come up during their mission. There were a lot of details that they had to hammer out before the op went live next week. Like Clint, he needed to prepare himself for the reality of living together.

If he was lucky, Clint would never discover Phil’s feelings for him.

~

The house was an affluent suburban cookie-cutter classic - off-white with dark wooden shutters framing the windows, two stories high, with a covered deck and a pool in the huge back yard, surrounded by fancy hedges in the front and a tall wooden fence in the back. The modest two-car garage was tastefully hidden behind the house and the driveway that led to it was edged in flower beds. A flagstone path wound around the house to a locked gate in a tall fence that shielded the back yard from public view. Clint didn’t know if that was a pool safety thing or a privacy thing. Most of their neighbors had similar set-ups, with and without pools, so maybe it was an ‘I’m a rich dick’ thing.

The moving van had arrived and a stream of agents disguised as moving men hauled box after box into the house. They would scan for listening devices at the same time; paranoia was considered a healthy survival trait in the spy community. Philip Larson and Clint Barnum were not the type of people who carried their own stuff, so Phil supervised and Clint stood nearby, affecting a relaxed yet bored stance. He’d done this before - he knew the neighbors would be watching. Depending on how dedicated the local gossips were, someone would be approaching them within the next one to four hours to get all the juicy details on the new arrivals. Clint was going to take the opportunity to play loving husband to the hilt - he could always pass it off as keeping his cover if Phil questioned him.

Exactly one hour later, they got a nibble. Clint recognized the two women walking toward them - the dossiers on the residents of the neighborhood had been very thorough - as Rebecca Shelton and her best friend, Kelly Baker. Shelton listed her occupation as ‘interior designer’, though she didn’t seem to have any clients other than herself. Baker was her live-in personal assistant, an arrangement that had begun after the unexpected death of Mr. Baker in a car accident. Mr. Shelton was an investment banker and the three of them traveled abroad frequently, putting them high on the list of suspects. Baker was carrying a covered dish; free food was Clint’s favorite part of being undercover in the ‘burbs.

“Hi,” Shelton said brightly as soon as they got close enough. “I’m Becca. Becca Shelton. This is Kelly. We’re your next-door neighbors.”

Kelly nodded and smiled. “We thought you could use a little help with supper,” she said, gesturing with the dish she was holding. “Welcome to our little corner of the world.”

Phil stared at them and then gave them a tight smile. “Thank you,” he said, making no move to take the dish. Phil Larson was an untrusting bastard.

Clint moved up behind him and wrapped his arm around Phil’s waist. That was totally what a loving husband would do. “Don’t mind Mr. Grumpy here,” he said. “Moving stresses him out. We really appreciate you thinking of us. I thought we were going to have to find a place that delivers and hope for the best.” He reached out and took the dish from Kelly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Clint Barnum, and this is my husband-“

“Philip Larson,” Phil interjected.

“That’s so sweet!” Becca said, bright smile still in place. “How long have you been married? Oh, Kelly, we should introduce them to Ben and Michael. You’ll love them,” she assured Clint and Phil, “they’re gay, too.”

“I’m sure,” Phil said with a fixed smile. Clint moved his hand to Phil’s shoulder and squeezed. Was he being too touchy-feely? He couldn’t lie, he enjoyed having a reason to touch Phil.

“We’ve been married a couple of years,” Clint said. “How about you two?”

Becca’s eyes got wide. “Oh, no. No, no, we’re not _married_. Kelly is my personal assistant.” She glanced back at Kelly, who had a strained look on her face. “Not that there’s anything wrong with two women being married. To each other. Or two men. I mean, we have Ben and Michael over all the time.”

“Uh-huh.” Clint was fine with letting this woman stick her foot in her mouth; in fact there were at least a dozen things he could say to escalate the situation. Phil probably wouldn’t appreciate that on their first day, though.

“We should get back,” Kelly said suddenly and nudged Becca in the side with her elbow. “We’ve got that thing.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, we need to get going. Nice to meet you!” Becca turned and strode away, leaving Kelly to scurry behind her.

“Don’t worry about the dish,” she called over her shoulder. “You can return it in a few days.”

Clint waved after them. “Bye!”

Phil shook his head. “That was strange.”

“There’s no way she’s that much of a caricature,” Clint agreed. “I wonder why they left in such a hurry? They hardly asked any questions. Shelton seems the type to bulldoze past her own social faux pas, no matter what her PA wants her to do.”

“We’ll have ears on them soon enough.”

The agent in charge of sweeping for bugs approached and gave them the all-clear. The rest of the agents packed up the moving van and they were soon gone, leaving Clint and Phil alone with their new house. Their fake house. For their fake marriage. The thought was a little depressing.

“Gonna carry me over the threshold, Phil?” Clint asked with a grin as they walked together toward their front door.

“With my bad back? You’ll have to carry me.” Philip Larson had a light-hearted side, apparently.

“But my hands are full,” Clint said, holding up the dish. He didn’t know what was in it, but there didn’t seem to be very much of it and it was cooling rapidly. “Speaking of, we’d better eat this before it gets cold.”

“Get in the kitchen and serve it up, then,” Phil said and smacked Clint on the ass.

“Ha ha.” Clint grabbed Phil’s hand and intertwined their fingers, and they walked inside together. If they were going to pretend to be married, Clint would make sure they were a very convincing married couple. Even if he was going to regret it later.

~

The op was going as well as could be expected. Clint and Phil each had their duties - Clint planted the bugs, either through ‘getting to know you’ visits with their neighbors or with well-timed B&E’s when nobody was home, and they took turns monitoring the feeds of their prime suspects. Much of what they recorded actually went back to SHIELD for analysis - the whole neighborhood was on the suspect list at first, and it was physically impossible for them to keep their ears on everyone. To avoid data transmissions that might be detected or intercepted, Phil would deliver the backup recordings whenever he traveled into the city for ‘work’, and pick up the reports SHIELD had generated for them based on previous recordings. They’d managed to eliminate many of their suspects. Something was up in the Shelton-Baker household, but Phil was almost certain it wasn’t guns and drugs.

The domestic side of things was going well, too. In fact, it had been much too easy for Phil to get used to living with Clint. They took turns with the daily chores and a SHIELD-approved cleaning service came once a week for the bigger jobs. Not that Clint was the perfect roommate - he was a slob with his clothes, though he would pick them up without any grumbling if Phil gave him a gentle reminder. He was most definitely not a morning person - he brushed his teeth while still half asleep and got specks of toothpaste all over the bathroom sink. And the mirror. And the counter.

He drank coffee straight from the coffee pot - Phil had invested in a second coffee maker on the third day of the op. Clint could prepare exactly three meals, although in his defense, all of them were delicious. He’d made friends with all of the neighborhood dogs, even the annoying yappy ones. None of these things put a dent in Phil’s infatuation. He wasn’t exactly perfect himself, but apparently none of his quirks rated more than temporary irritation. Since his habits had driven one fellow agent - Jasper, one of his best friends - into an almost homicidal rage, mild irritation was practically approval.

Phil’s biggest problem was that Clint hadn’t been exaggerating about being a sleep cuddler. They went to bed at different times; Clint stayed up late to monitor the feed on their shortlist of suspects, while Phil took the early morning shift. Every night Phil went to bed alone and every morning he woke up snuggled against Clint’s chest while Clint spooned him from behind. Phil always extricated himself as gently as possible, regretting that he had to leave the warmth and safety of Clint’s strong yet gentle embrace. Clint never said anything, but no SHIELD agent slept that deeply - he had to know what was going on. The fact that he didn’t say anything meant he was either too embarrassed to bring it up or he just didn’t think anything of it. Phil wasn’t saying anything either, but embarrassment had nothing to do with it and he definitely thought about it far too often. He just didn’t want the cuddling to stop, even though he shouldn’t allow himself to get his hopes up.

On this particular morning, Phil woke up as usual; unwound Clint’s arm from around him and freed his legs from under Clint’s, as usual; went into the bathroom and took a shower, as usual. When he came back into the bedroom to get dressed, Clint was still asleep, as usual. He’d rolled over onto his stomach, facing Phil. The sheet was bunched around his waist, revealing his naked back - Clint wore only a pair of sleep pants to bed. Phil resolutely turned away. He’d seen Clint shirtless countless times, but seeing him like that while he was asleep was different. Even if the idea hadn’t made him feel slightly disgusted with himself, looking at Clint half-naked while he himself was completely naked and slightly damp from his shower could only be considered a form of masochism.

Phil took off his towel and tossed it into the hamper. He thought he heard a noise from the bed, but when he checked, Clint was still laying there peacefully. Phil got dressed in his usual business casual attire and left the room. He had time to review any of the feeds that had been flagged by the keyword program while they were sleeping before listening in on their neighbor’s morning conversations.

~

As soon as Phil left the room, Clint buried his face in his pillow. _No ogling him when he comes out of the shower, dammit_ , he reminded himself. _Way to be a creepy stalker-type._

He’d woken briefly when Phil got out of bed - Phil never brought up Clint’s octopus routine, but Clint had warned him, so he was probably just taking it in stride like he did everything else - and then fallen back to sleep. He’d woken again when Phil came out of the bathroom, but he’d kept his eyes closed - Clint didn’t have to get up yet and he didn’t need to torture himself with the memory of Phil in a towel. Plus he had that ‘no ogling’ policy. Then Phil had sighed - not a usual Phil sigh - and Clint had opened his eyes just in time to see Phil take off his towel. His back was turned – Clint wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Phil’s muscled back, the way it curved into the swell of his perfect ass... His whimper had just slipped out. He’d quickly closed his eyes again, but Phil didn’t say anything. He must not have noticed.

Clint tried to fall asleep again, but he only dozed restlessly until his alarm finally went off. Being fake married was both awesome and awful - it was going to take a long time to get back on an even keel once the mission was over. It would be even longer before the image of Phil standing naked in the early morning light faded from his memory.

After a quick shower, Clint shuffled into the kitchen. His coffee maker sputtered the last of the coffee into the pot and beeped at him. _Bless Phil for making this_ , he thought as he filled his coffee stein. It took most of the pot before he felt remotely human and ready to face the day.

Food was next. He pulled out a frying pan, a carton of eggs and some turkey bacon and got to work. Phil always waited until Clint woke up to eat breakfast, tiding himself over with coffee and a granola bar. It would have been coffee and powdered donuts if Clint hadn’t taken over the grocery shopping. Clint loved junk food as much as the next guy, but Phil tried to live on the stuff - it wasn’t good for him.

Phil wandered in just as Clint was slicing the toast - whole wheat - into triangles and arranging them on a plate next to a mound of scrambled eggs. The bacon was warming in the oven.

“Smells good,” Phil said with a yawn.

“Killed the turkey pig myself,” Clint said.

“Lay the eggs yourself, too?” Phil poured a cup of coffee and sat down.

“L. O. L,” Clint said in his most deadpan voice. He retrieved the bacon and piled it on top of the eggs. “Eat up. Gonna be a long day, I think.”

Phil took his share of breakfast and tucked in. Clint did the same.

“Anything interesting?” They hadn’t heard anything so far that would help identify their suspect, but that didn’t mean the neighborhood was as quiet as it appeared. There were shenanigans going on of both the illegal and the bed-hopping kind.

“It seems like the Sheltons are in a polyamorous relationship with Kelly Baker. Everything is taking place with enthusiastic consent on everyone’s part, as I learned in great detail this morning.”

“Not cheating after all. Huh.” So maybe not as many bed-hopping shenanigans were taking place as they’d thought. That still left the illegal ones, and the Shelton-Baker triad was definitely involved in something hinky. Money laundering or embezzling, probably. Whether it was tied to their investigation was unclear.

“The Collinses will be at the party tonight; they were discussing it before he went on his morning run,” Phil continued.

“Be nice to finally get a read on them.” Everett and Dee Collins were the only remaining suspects in the neighborhood they had yet to meet in person. The Collinses only lived in their house on the weekends. During the week, they stayed in a fancy apartment in the city that was closer to their jobs. SHIELD hadn’t found anything out of line in their background checks or their financials; if they were involved in anything illegal, they were hiding it well. Clint privately thought having the house and the apartment was a waste of money, but that was their business. Unless their business was illegal, then it would become SHIELD’s business. “So everyone that’s still on our suspect list is going to be there, right?”

“Unless something unexpected happens, everyone will be there.”

The neighborhood party, organized by the Mitchells – a nice couple with two kids, who were no longer on the suspect list, to Clint’s relief – was the perfect place for their gun/drug smuggler to approach Phil. Clint had been subtly dropping hints about how Phil made his money; anyone in the business would have caught his word choice and phrasing and even a cursory check of ‘Philip Larson’ would reveal his involvement in the arms-dealing community. He hadn’t played up his own supposed drug-dealing history, but that would have been easy to find, too. “I hope we get a solid lead out of this. We’re getting nowhere fast on this investigation. It’s like running on a treadmill; not quite pointless, but very boring.”

“How else will we keep our girlish figures, though?” Phil put his plate in the dishwasher and returned to the table to finish his coffee.

“You’re not funny,” Clint grumbled. Except he kinda was and Clint shouldn’t find his cheesy jokes so fucking adorable. He shouldn’t be thinking anything about Coulson was adorable. Clint wasn’t the kind of guy who used the word adorable, not even around puppies and kittens, which were legitimately adorable creatures.

Their living arrangement was seriously starting to fuck with his head. And tonight he would be hanging all over Coulson, because everyone knew that Clint Barnum was crazy in love with his husband and the only thing keeping him from climbing Phil like a tree at any given moment was his barely-there sense of common decency and the distance to the nearest semi-private room. (They had almost been caught during one of their bug-planting forays and only their quickly staged make-out session had saved them. Word had spread quickly about their tendency to disappear in other people’s homes so they could get it on, apparently, so Clint made sure to be the handsiest husband ever when they were out in public. Tastefully handsy, of course; it was bad enough that he _had_ to touch Phil for the mission - he didn’t need to cross a line while he was doing it, even if Phil had said he didn’t mind. Clint would rather have his enthusiastic participation, not his practical tolerance.)

“I have to go into the city for the exchange today. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

“Don’t be gone too long, dear. We have to get gussied up for the shindig tonight.” Clint took his dishes to the sink and started to clear the table.

“It should only take a couple of hours, honeybunch. Don’t worry your pretty little head.” With that, Phil left the kitchen to gather his things.

“You’re still not funny,” Clint called after him.

~

The party was a small affair. The Mitchells were hosting it on their backyard, but it was unlike any backyard party Phil had attended as a child. They had an elaborate patio with a built-in firepit and a gurgling fountain. The lawn was tamed, kept within its bounds by stone walkways (with color-coded flower borders) that allowed visitors to view several beautifully arranged gardens, each with a different theme, including a zen garden. The walkways ultimately led to a small greenhouse, which was locked ‘to protect a few of the more delicate plants’, according to Rae Mitchell.

Phil ignored the pointed look she gave him and Clint. Their neighbors had an unfortunate impression of them, but Phil would rather they think he couldn’t keep it in his pants than endanger the investigation because he and Clint got caught placing listening devices. Which meant that Clint was now plastered to his side, his arm around Phil’s waist, and Phil was leaning into him slightly. Thankfully he had perfected his poker face over many long years with SHIELD and even more with Nick Fury – it would take more than Clint’s warm, hard body firmly against his own to make him break. (Although if he was being honest with himself, it wouldn’t take much more.)

Dennis Mitchell was manning the bar, pouring drinks like he’d seen _Cocktail_ one too many times as an impressionable teenager (though come to think of it, he probably wasn’t even old enough to have seen it as a teenager – Phil briefly felt very old). The liquor selection was extensive, at least. Phil had been nursing his drink all evening, while Clint had been emptying his surreptitiously into the surrounding vegetation.

Becca Shelton and her husband Richard were Dennis’s current customers. Kelly Baker was nearby, talking to Ben and Michael Alvarez-Gibson and Eliza Mason, each of them with a drink in their hands. Becca had introduced Phil and Clint to Ben and Michael at a dinner party soon after they had moved in. The two men were friendly enough, but they kept their distance. Phil couldn’t decide if it was because Ben was a former cop and he’d pegged them as unsavory types or if they were just being cagey about approaching Phil about his ‘import-export’ business. Unfortunately, Ben’s background didn’t rule him out as one of the suspects. Michael’s history was unexceptional, which either meant he really was squeaky clean or he had a good script doctor and hacker on retainer.

Phil briefly considered what a life that didn’t require a constant state of paranoia would be like, but he dismissed the thought instantly. Despite the drawbacks that sometimes came along with it, being a SHIELD agent was what he wanted to do with his life. There were plenty of rewards, too; the satisfaction that came from saving the world shouldn’t be underestimated. For all that he didn’t trust easily, he had people he would give his life for and he knew they would do the same. Clint was one of those people, even if their current situation was almost more drawback than reward. Phil still hadn’t learned not to want things he couldn’t have. He would get through it just like he got through anything – by doing his job.

Eliza Mason had inherited her house from an elderly aunt who’d decided that her freeloading children had gotten enough of her money and possessions. She was one of the few unmarried people in the neighborhood. They had no evidence tying her to anything illegal, but she wasn’t completely in the clear yet, no matter what Clint’s gut said – even if Phil privately thought he was right. As soon as she spotted Phil and Clint, she extricated herself from the conversation and joined them.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” she whispered to Clint after greeting them both. Twenty years of living in the United States hadn’t completely erased her English accent, though Phil couldn’t have placed her exact origins without looking at her file. “You have to save me. Kelly is determined to throw me at Chance’s head and will not take no as my answer.”  

Chance Butler, also single, also British (of indeterminate origin - the in-depth background check listed childhood residences throughout various parts of England and Wales and even a brief sojourn in Australia, but his history still had some blanks left to be filled), which was likely why Kelly was trying to set Eliza up with him – she wasn’t very imaginative. Phil had only met Butler once; he was friendly but generally indifferent to them. He was gone much of the time, like the Collinses. He was also their prime suspect, but they hadn’t uncovered anything incriminating.

“Not rich enough for you, huh?” Clint murmured then laughed when she slapped his shoulder.

“Oh, you. He is not my type in the least. Much too full of himself.”

“Speak of the devil,” Clint said, looking over at the other side of the patio. Butler was standing with an unknown couple who looked like they smelled something awful but were too polite to mention it.

“Who’s he speaking with?” Phil asked, finally joining the conversation.

“That’s right, you haven’t met the Collins yet. Collinses? That sounds odd, doesn’t it? Everett and Dee, my elusive next-door neighbors.” Eliza caught their attention and waved at them.

“Not quite as mythical as I imagined,” Clint said. He shifted his arm so his hand was sitting lower on Phil’s hip and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I don’t think they like Butler very much.” Then he nuzzled Phil’s cheek.

Phil took a deep breath – _I am a professional_ – and turned to say quietly, “I don’t think they like anybody here, judging by the amount of time they don’t spend in the neighborhood.” This close, he could smell the subtle scents of Clint’s shampoo and aftershave, which mingled pleasantly. It made him think of long hours working together in surveillance vehicles and safe houses, about how Clint always had his back. Phil wanted to stay this close to him forever.

Clint tensed against him; Phil shot a discreet look around for any potential threats, but nothing had changed. “Clint?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a breath.

“S’nothing,” Clint muttered. “Just itching to get somewhere on this.”

“No more canoodling, you two,” Eliza said cheerfully. “Rae’s giving you a _look_.”

Phil suppressed an eye roll and beside him Clint snorted quietly.

“She’s just jealous,” Clint said with a slight leer in his smile as he pulled Phil firmly against his side. As if they weren’t close enough already.

“Children will do things to your sex life,” Eliza said, a shade too loud, “or so I’ve heard.”

“Why don’t you introduce us to your neighbors, Eliza?” Phil said quickly.

“Certainly. Just don’t expect any sparkling conversation; they’re rather dull.” Eliza drained the rest of her drink and set her glass on a low stone wall, on top of a broad green leaf of some undoubtedly expensive plant. She threw Clint a wink.

The introductions made, Eliza managed to excuse herself after a few moments, though Phil couldn’t tell if that was due to Butler or her neighbors; Butler was overly friendly and the Collinses were politely dismissive. They turned the same dismissive attitude on Phil and Clint, as did Butler, but Clint carried on a cheerful, practically one-sided conversation while Phil stood by indulgently. Clint was dropping enough hints that if any of these three were involved in the smuggling business there was no way they could miss the fact that Clint and Phil were part of that world. Luckily, Clint didn’t mind playing dumb, because he was coming across as oblivious in more ways than one.

Apparently not even Clint’s most inane chatter could break this group; the Collinses excused themselves after a few minutes and Butler soon did the same.

“Am I losing my touch?” Clint whispered. “That was my best clue-dropping small talk spiel.”

“Tough crowd,” Phil said as they watched the party. Butler had joined the Sheltons. The Collinses (they had pointedly not been invited to call the couple by their first names) had split up, Everett talking to Ben and Michael and Dee with Rae. The two women were watching Phil and Clint while they chatted.

“I’m almost tempted to disappear just to get Rae’s heart racing,” Clint said with a smirk and Phil suppressed a chuckle.

“What did you think?” he asked and took a sip of his drink.

“Stand-offish isn’t a strong enough term for them. But that’s probably because of how white everyone is.”

Phil had to agree. The Collinses were the only black people living in the neighborhood, and Phil had overheard the casual racism that Ben (Alvarez, before he and Michael had gotten married and hyphenated) was subjected to on a regular basis. He couldn’t imagine it was any different for them.

“My gut tells me they’re clean,” Clint continued.

“I’ll let you know when your gut is admissible as evidence.” Phil had great respect for Clint’s instincts, especially when it came to suspects. They just needed proof to back up those instincts.

“Now if you want to ask me about Butler…”

“I know.” Butler was pinging on both of their radars, but he kept coming up clean. Phil was beginning to wonder about SHIELD’s research department.

“Clint,” Becca Shelton called cheerfully. “Clint, I _must_ talk to you. I need your _expertise_.”

“Do I have to?” Clint muttered, but he pasted on a grin as she approached. “Always happy to help, Becks, you know that. What am I helping with?”

“Phil, I am going to borrow your _delightful_ husband for just a teensy-weensy minute.” Her eyes were a little glassy and there was a slight wobble in her walk. “You won’t have time to miss him, I promise.”

“Well I don’t know about _that_ ,” Clint said. “I already miss him,” he added sappily and kissed the corner of Phil’s mouth.

“Oh, you,” Becca said as she swatted at Clint’s shoulder. “Come and help me talk some _sense_ into Ben and Michael. They want to redo their living room in _mulberry_ , can you believe that?”

Clint widened his eyes at Phil as Becca pulled him away. “Help me,” he mouthed.

Phil cleared his throat. “Just bring him back in one piece, please.” He tried to ignore the lingering feel of Clint’s lips on his. That tiny kiss was harder on Phil’s control than their semi-public groping session had been, which had mainly involved some creative hand placement and a lot of theatrical groaning.

With Clint off with Becca, Phil took to the pathways. It was getting too dark to really see much of the garden tableaus, but he had cultivated a reputation for disliking idle chit chat and the company of anyone who wasn’t Clint; no one would think twice about seeing him there. As usual, he was left alone; people only sought him out for a reason. When Butler eventually approached him, Phil was sure it was because he was the one they’d been waiting for.

“Don’t usually see you without your accessory,” Butler said as he sauntered to a stop next to Phil.

“Accessory?” Phil asked mildly. This wasn’t Butler’s usual polite, bland banter.

“I see why you keep him around, but he does run at the mouth.” Butler smirked. “He must do amazing things with it, for you to put up with that.”

“Is there something you wanted?” Phil kept his tone on the frosty side of polite. Butler didn’t know enough about Phil Larson to understand how much of a warning that was. Phil was going to teach him, in a less public place and time; he wasn’t violent for violence’s sake, but imparting this particular lesson was going to be satisfying. Even if Clint had been exactly what he pretended to be, Butler didn’t get to insult him.  

“I think you’ll be feeling friendlier once you hear what I’ve got to say.”

This was it. Phil turned so he was facing the party – the better to keep an eye on everyone while Butler made his pitch. He caught Clint’s eye and scratched the side of his nose. Clint gave him a flirty smile and went back to his conversation with Becca, Michael, and Ben, subtly orienting himself to keep Phil and Butler in his peripheral vision.

“Go on.” He had yet to afford Butler the courtesy of looking directly at him.

“We have a few mutual acquaintances.”

“Oh?”

“Business associates, I should say. They told me you were a good man to do business with.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You’ll find I’m a good man to do business with, as well.”

Phil didn’t reply. Phil Larson wasn’t a fool; he wouldn’t take Butler’s word for it. Butler had to know that.

“You should ask around about me amongst your own business associates. You’ll find the Dealmaker has a solid reputation in certain circles.”

Finally, they had a name to start with. It wasn’t one Phil recognized; the Dealmaker hadn’t gained enough of a reputation to reach his ears yet, apparently. A new player or a new alias? Butler struck him as small time, looking to make a bigger name for himself, but he obviously had some experience.

“I’ll let you know,” Phil said. Without a word of goodbye, still without looking at him, he left Butler standing on the garden path and rejoined the party. He was suddenly impatient to leave, no matter how impolite that would appear to their neighbors – and no matter how Butler might interpret his actions. They had a lead and Phil wanted to waste no time in following it. It was time to put their reputation for being unable to keep their hands off each other to good use.

As much as he wanted to walk straight over to Clint and just leave, Phil took time to stop and chat with their neighbors, trading pleasantries and listening to idle gossip. Throughout every conversation, he kept his eyes on Clint, leaving no doubt as to his ultimate goal.

Clint played along, holding his gaze whenever their eyes met and licking his lips, losing track of whatever was being said to him. When Phil finally reached his side, no one was surprised when they excused themselves immediately.

~

Coulson stalking him like he was his next meal was the sexiest thing Clint had ever experienced. The effect Phil’s heavy-lidded gaze had on him could not have been more intense if it had been real. Clint was going to remember it for a very long time.

The walk back to their house didn’t have much of a cooling effect on Clint’s libido. They’d left the party practically plastered against each other and they hadn’t moved away from each other even when they were out of sight of the partygoers – you never knew who might be watching; the most successful undercover performances were the ones that extended even to supposed private time. They were touching all along their sides, from their shoulders to their hips, their thighs brushing as they walked. Phil’s hand was low on Clint’s waist - if he turned just right, that hand would be on his ass. Turning would also put them in a perfect position for a long, lingering kiss - which Clint should not be thinking about right now. Phil’s touch was sweet torture.

Once they were inside, they finally moved away from each other. Clint rolled his shoulders, trying to ignore the lingering warmth along his side. They had work to do; he would have time to savor the memory of Phil’s body against his later. Phil led them directly to the room where their monitoring equipment was set up – until they swept for bugs, it was the only place they would risk speaking to each other about the case. Their caution might have been over the top, but they followed the same protocol every time they were both out of the house for a long period of time. They hadn’t found anything yet, but neither of them was willing to take the chance that there wouldn’t be something this time.

Phil switched on the jamming device (which had not been labeled ‘Bat Jamming Device’ as Clint had suggested) and said, “It’s Butler. He wants to do business.”

“Fucking finally.” Clint flopped down into the desk chair, his head lolled back. He started to spin the seat in little half-arcs. “Got an alias to go with his business offer?”

“The Dealmaker.” Phil picked up the handset of their secured line and started to dial a number.

Clint snorted. “Really? Criminals have no imagination anymore.”

“Not everyone is lucky enough to come up with something like ‘Hawkeye’,” Phil said. Before Clint could reply, Phil spoke into the phone, rattling off a string of letters and numbers. When he was finished, he said, “I need anything you have on a middleman who calls himself the Dealmaker. Thank you.” Then he hung up the phone.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Of course Phil had a plan; he might need to tweak it once he had more information, but he definitely had a plan.

“I need to pay Butler a visit tonight. SHIELD sources are going to take too long; time to call Sasha.” Phil pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.

Clint didn’t know who Sasha was, but Phil had a long list of criminal contacts through his various undercover aliases.

“Sasha, it’s Phil,” Phil said into his phone, then immediately held the phone away from his ear.

“Филя,” came the enthusiastic response. Sasha was apparently a Russian man with a loud voice.

“Feelya?” Clint mouthed, unable to suppress a smirk. Gotta love those Russian diminutives.

Phil raised an eyebrow at him and turned away slightly as he said, “I had an interesting conversation tonight, Sasha. With a little rat who calls himself the Dealmaker. Tell me about him.”

This set off an excited burst of words that Clint couldn’t quite make out.

“No, Sasha, I’m not going to kill him. I’m going to teach him proper respect for what’s mine. And if he’s properly apologetic, maybe I’ll do business with him.”

Sasha’s response was calm enough that Clint couldn’t hear his reply at all. He thought about what Phil had just said. Respect for what was his? What had Butler said during their brief conversation? Phil – weapons smuggler Phil – wouldn’t care if someone talked smack about his stuff.

Except Clint was considered his, in this particular criminal underclass. Anything Clint did would reflect on Phil – he was Phil’s responsibility. His property, in a sense. And Butler had said something bad about Clint. Phil could have played that two ways – either Clint meant nothing to him and whatever Butler said wasn’t worth acknowledging, or Clint was important enough that insults had to be met with a response. It looked like Phil was going with the second option. Which meant if Phil didn’t respond appropriately, Butler would not respect Phil and their business deal might fall through before it even began. They had to keep his interest and his respect; Phil was going to have to beat him up. Just a little.

“Спасибо, Sasha. I’ll leave a token of my appreciation in the usual place.” Phil hung up the phone.

“Well?”

“Butler’s a little fish, according to my contact. But he’s gaining a big reputation – he’s in with a lot of the bigger players as well as most of the new names.”

“So do we keep him on the hook or bring him in to see how much he’ll give up?”

“We’ll give him a little line, see how much he knows first.” Phil unbuttoned his top button and the cuffs of his shirt. “Let’s do the bug sweep. That should take long enough for the party to end and give Butler time to get home.”

Clint pulled the bug detectors out of a drawer. “So what did Butler say about me?” He didn’t care what some two-bit gun and drug smuggler thought about him. But Phil… why hadn’t Phil just brushed it off, as if Clint were no more than his current bed toy? Clint had played that part before.

“He was being crude. It wasn’t something my persona would let slide.” With that non-answer, Phil took one of the detectors and left the room.

With something like hope flaring in his chest, Clint followed after him.

~

Butler’s house, one of the largest in the neighborhood, was dark except for a light shining from one of the windows – the living room, but Phil wasn’t supposed to know that. He knocked on the front door.

Butler was surprised to see him, though he tried to hide it. “Larson. This is unexpected.”

“I thought we should talk. Are you going to let me in?” Phil asked mildly.

“Come in.” He stepped back and allowed Phil to enter the house, closing the door behind him. “What can I do for you?”

They were standing in the foyer – no invitation to sit and get comfortable, no offer of a drink. Not good signs.

Phil’s fist shot out, connecting hard with Butler’s mouth. Butler yelled and stumbled back. Phil stepped closer and grabbed his shoulder, holding him steady for a punch to the gut. Butler gasped and doubled over; Phil shoved him to the ground.

As he lay gasping and writhing on the floor, Phil squatted beside him. “You done?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You don’t talk about my husband’s mouth. You don’t talk about my husband at all, unless it’s with the utmost respect. Is that clear?”

Butler didn’t answer; Phil smacked him. “I said, is that clear?”

“The fuck,” Butler gasped. Phil smacked him again. “Yes, yes. What the fuck?”

Phil stood up and stepped back. “Get up.”

Butler got to his feet slowly, keeping a wary eye on Phil. He swiped at the blood on his chin. Phil handed him a handkerchief, which he took reluctantly.

“Now,” Phil said. “I realize you don’t know me. Maybe you thought you were being friendly, just a couple of guys talking shit about their sexual partners. So I let you off easy.”

Butler stared at him.

“The next time you disrespect me and mine, it won’t go so well. Do we have an understanding?”

Butler nodded.

“I asked around about you. I hear you’re an up-and-comer. I think we can do business.”

“What?” Butler sputtered. “After- I mean, yes. Yes, I want to do business with you.”

“Put together some numbers and we’ll discuss what you have in mind. Two days, five o’clock, here. I prefer scotch.”

Butler nodded vigorously.

“I’ll see myself out.”

Phil walked back to his and Clint’s house. He had long since accepted the morally gray and flat-out violent aspects of his job; he didn’t waste a single thought on the fact that he’d just assaulted someone. That there was an actual element of revenge in his actions was new, though, and slightly worrying. He’d never denied to himself how much Clint meant to him, but living together, acting as a married couple, had intensified his feelings. Knowing Clint as well as he did, there was also a newfound sense of hope – hope that Clint might return his feelings.

Maybe he should say something.

~

Clint waited for Phil to come home – back. Come back. Waiting without anything to act as a distraction was maddening. Their first sweep for bugs had come up with nothing, so he could probably go through the house again – it wouldn’t hurt to make sure. On the other hand, the meeting with Butler probably wouldn’t take very long. He didn’t want to be in the middle of doing something when Phil got back.

He was done with not acting on his feelings for Phil, with thinking it was hopeless. He was going to say something. Get everything out there and see where it led. They were professionals – if it didn’t work out, if Phil wasn’t interested, they could get past the awkwardness and still do their jobs. But Clint thought (hoped) that Phil felt the same way about him.

Clint was on the verge of jumping up and actually pacing when Phil walked in. He settled back in the armchair, faking nonchalance.

“How’d it go?”

“He got my message and we’re meeting in two days to discuss business.” Phil flexed his hand a couple of times.

“There’s an ice pack in the freezer,” Clint said, then mentally kicked himself. He should have gotten it himself.

He jumped up as Phil turned and went to the kitchen, entering it just behind him. He took a kitchen towel from a drawer and grabbed the ice pack from Phil’s hand to wrap it up. Phil looked at him in surprise.

“Sorry, I just- I should have- Here.” He shoved the wrapped ice pack at Phil and retreated to the kitchen table. This was going so well.

“Clint,” Phil said as he sat down across from Clint. “I-“ He fussed with the ice pack. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Phil-“ he began.

“Clint, I-“ Phil said at the same time.

They looked at each other. “You first,” Clint said.

“I wanted to say… These past weeks, working so closely with you… But really, it started a long time ago…” Phil heaved a sigh and stared at the table.

The sight of Phil floundering for words was too much. “I love you,” Clint burst out. Phil’s startled gaze met his.

“Yes,” Phil said. “I mean, that’s what I was trying to say. Wait.”

Clint gripped the edge of the table. “You-”

“Did you-”

This was getting ridiculous. Had Phil really- “Did you just tell me you love me?”

“I was trying to, yes.” Phil smiled. “And you just told me you love me.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re ridiculous.”

Clint reached across the table and put his hand over Phil’s good one. His fingers were cold from holding the ice pack in place. Clint rubbed his thumb over them.

“So what do you want to do about these mutual feelings we seem to have?” Phil asked him. He was smiling, his eyes crinkling with happiness.

“Go on dates? Hold hands? Kiss? Have sex?” _Get married_ , he didn’t say, because it was much too soon. Maybe they’d get there eventually.

“Those all sound good. Let’s do all of that.” He pulled his hands out from under Clint’s. “It’s been a long day. I’m cancelling live surveillance for tonight.”

“Okay,” Clint said, bewildered.

“We should go to bed. Maybe make out a little, for real this time.” Phil stood up and tossed the ice pack into the sink.

“Hell yes,” Clint said and they went to their bedroom, holding hands the whole way.

~

The meeting with Butler was going well. Maybe a little too well; something was nagging at Phil. Something was off.

“…and here’s a list of my contacts in the Eastern region. I think we both know how much those are worth,” Butler was saying.

“It’s an impressive list… of nobodies. I’ll decide their worth after I’ve seen them in action.”

Butler clenched his fist but didn’t protest. He should have been up in arms, defending his assets. Something was definitely wrong. Butler looked at his watch, something he’d been doing a lot, Phil realized.

“What have you done?” Phil demanded.

“I don’t… You know what, fuck you. You think you can come into my house, punch me in my face, and then do business with me without so much as a by your leave? We’re going to do this deal all right, but it’s going to be my way. You’re going to give me access to your entire list of clients, or the fuck toy you call a husband is going to die.”

“You expect me to believe-“

“Believe it,” Butler cut in. “I’ve got a man at your house right now, ready to do the deed if he doesn’t hear from me.”

Despite his faith in Clint’s skills, Phil did feel a tinge of worry. Of course, Butler could be lying. “What’s my time frame here? I mean, you can’t expect me to just have that information on me. If my husband is going to be killed because I can’t get the information in time, I might as well not bother.”

Butler pulled out his phone. “Fine. How long will it take to get the information?”

“I don’t know, an hour maybe?” Phil shrugged. Butler was so out of his depth it was laughable. Too bad he was still dangerous, or Phil would go ahead and laugh in his face. As it was, he pushed the button on his watch that would alert the SHIELD team he had standing by. It was time to end this.

Butler dialed a number. “Hey,” he said when his call was answered. “If you don’t hear from me in two hours, you know what to do. Got it?”

As Butler was ending the call, they both heard a shout and the sound of a gunshot come through the phone. Butler’s eyes flew up to meet Phil’s. The front door crashed open and Phil punched Butler in the nose while he was distracted by the SHIELD agents swarming into his house. If Clint was hurt… well, Phil didn’t know what he would do, but things would not go well with Butler.

~

There was a knock at the door. Clint looked through the peephole; he wasn’t expecting company. He hoped it was someone he could get rid of quickly – there was a lot going on today and Clint had a schedule to stick to.

It was Michael Alvarez-Gibson. Clint opened the door. “Hey, Michael. Is everything all right?” Michael was looking pale and he was shaking a bit.

“Could I come in, please?” His voice was barely audible.

“Sure man, get in here. What happened?” Clint ushered him inside and led him to the living room. “Can I get you a drink or something? You look like you need it.”

“No, thank you. Alcohol won’t help.” Michael huddled in a chair, his hands jammed in his jacket pockets.

Clint sat down. “Talk to me, man. Is there anything I can do?” He had a bit of a dilemma – the op was going down today and he had to be ready for his part in it. But for Michael to come to Clint, obviously shaken – something was up.

“I’m sorry, Clint,” Michael whispered. He pulled his hand out of his pocket… and a gun, which he pointed straight at Clint.

“Shit,” Clint said. What a rookie mistake. He was never going to live this down.

“If I don’t… He said, if I don’t… do this, he’s going to kill Ben.”

“Butler.” It wasn’t a question, but Michael nodded.

“That fucker.”

“We’re just going to wait for his call, and if he doesn’t get what he wants, I’ll have to, um, shoot you.” Michael’s trembling got worse and Clint worried that he’d be shot accidentally before he had a chance to get the gun away from him.

They sat in silence for a while, waiting for Michael’s phone to ring. Michael obviously wasn’t used to the weight of the gun; his aim was all over the place and his arm was shaking.

“Look, Michael. Just put the gun down. I’m not trying to escape, okay? You don’t have to actually shoot me until you hear from fucking Butler, right? So I’d rather you didn’t drop the thing and shoot me too soon.”

“Oh. Right.” Michael set the gun in his lap and slumped further into the chair.

“So Butler has Ben? How’d he get the drop on him? Your husband’s a tough guy. I mean, former cop and all.”

“Ben’s at work. Chance, I mean Butler, has a sniper ready to shoot him if I don’t do this.”

“I see.” Clint paused. “So if Butler has a guy, why did he send you to kill me?”

“What?”

“I’m saying if he has a sniper, someone who is much more likely to actually hit what they’re aiming at, why send you?” Clint was starting to feel bad for Michael, aside from the whole pointing a gun at him thing.

Realization dawned on Michael’s face. “You think he lied? But he showed me…” He pulled out his phone and hit a number. He held the phone to his ear for several tense seconds. “Ben,” he said urgently. “Where are you? Are you by any windows?” A short pause. “What do you mean you’re in transit? Isn’t today an office day?” Another pause. “Yes, there is something wrong, but not as wrong as I thought it was. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll tell you when you get home.” They exchanged ‘I love you’s and Michael hung up.

“Ben’s nowhere near his office today. Butler showed me a video of the sniper aiming at him through his window. But obviously that was some sort of fake.”

“And now you don’t have to shoot me,” Clint said cheerfully.

“No I don’t. Thank you, Jesus. Okay. Well. Sorry for this little mix-up. I’ll, um, just get going okay? And we can forget this ever happened.” Michael stood up and carefully placed the gun in his jacket pocket again.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Clint said. “Butler’s with Phil. If he calls and you don’t answer or if you tell him you’re on to his lies, he might do something to Phil. And I can’t allow that.”

Michael opened his mouth to protest, but then he sat back down in the chair. “I suppose I owe you that much, after holding a gun on you and planning on shooting you.”

“Absolutely you do.”

The waiting silence was less tense, but thankfully it was short. After almost ten minutes, Michael’s phone rang, making him jump. “It’s Butler,” he hissed. “What should I say?”

“Just let him do the talking. He’s that type.”

Michael stood up and answered the call. “Hello?” he said, voice trembling again. He began pacing and chewing on his thumbnail. “Okay,” he said and swung around.

“Look out,” Clint yelled as the gun slipped out of Michael’s pocket and hit the floor. It went off.

~

Phil left the unconscious Butler in the SHIELD team’s hands and raced back to his house. Clint was all right, he had to be all right. He burst through the door to find a very shaken Michael Alvarez-Gibson staring in horror at Clint, who had one hand clamped over his bicep, blood trickling down his arm from under his fingers.

“Just a bullet burn,” Clint said calmly. He tried to smile, but it was more like a wince.

Phil sucked in a huge breath and felt all the tension leaving his body. Clint was okay. Phil walked over to him and placed a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. “Thank god,” he whispered against Clint’s lips.

“I’m okay,” Clint whispered back. “I’m okay.” He kept repeating it, peppering the words with tiny kisses as they leaned into each other, relief making them shaky.

“Um, now might not be the best time?” Michael said. “There’s some government types here to talk to you. Or something.”

“The plan,” Clint murmured.

“Time for Phil Larson and Clint Barnum to get arrested. Ready?”

“Always, boss. Dinner tonight, my place?”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Laptop woes seem to be a theme for me and participating in Bangs. At least this time it was just intermittent freezing issues and not something worse.
> 
> Russian translations:  
> Филя - Filya, a diminutive of Filipp, the Russian form of Philip (according the website on Russian names that I found. Let me know if this is incorrect.)  
> Спасибо - thank you.


End file.
